Singing of the dead (Novel one)

CHAPTER TWO: THE MASSACRE

Atlas coughed up his whisky slightly and everybody had a little chuckle, everybody bar Isabelle who appeared to be in a trance, staring off into the darkness towards her partner's grave thinking about the brutality that occurred that day, picturing Choles face and how she longs to see her smile one last time. A couple of seconds pass and Isabelle snaps out of her day dream and hears the slight laughter of those around her, she turns her head glancing at Jessica's face which had a slight recoil on it from the burn of her drink, her eyesight passed over to her grandad who tanked his shot without showing any expression at all, She then rested her eyes onto her brother who was still slightly coughing, whisky dribbling down his chin. She let out a little chuckle and shook her head. Atlas set his half-backwashed drink on the table and wiped his chin and spoke:

"Fuck that's rough".

"It'll put some hairs on your chest boy" Jim said as he picked up the whisky bottle, his hand shaking slightly as he did and poured everyone another drink spilling some on the table with every pour. Isabelle thought about helping him but anything her grandad could do individually without help was a small win, even if it did cause some mess. Jim looked over at Atlas who was glaring at the new glass of whisky in front of him.

"Where is your mum and dad? They should come and join us".

Isabelle and Atlas looked at each other and their eyes locked but they stayed in silence but let their eyes to the talking, communicating on who would respond to there granddad. However, before either could speak Jessica rescued them.

"They aren't here tonight Big Jim; they are at work." Jessica didn't enjoy lying to what was basically her own grandfather at this point, but she thought that a simple lie would not only keep Jim happy but also help her boyfriend and her best friend from dealing with the awkwardness. Atlas looked at Jessica and mouth a silent thank you. Atlas then changed the subject to something more light-hearted.

"It's going to be a cold one tonight" his breath showing slightly in the air as he spoke.

Isabelle raised her glass disrupting the liquid it was sitting in from the spillage of her granddads pour.

"This will warm you up, a booze blanket." Necking her drink at the end of her sentence.

Atlas glared back at his drink with a wince on his face and placed his hand on the cold glass lifting it to his lips and took a small sip wincing slightly more as he did. After a slight pause he looked around at everyone and whispered to himself "fuck it" and threw the drink straight back down his throat once again letting out a slight cough as he did.

The drinking and talking continued into the darkness, stories shared of times before the outbreak, Jim talked about his old boxing days, his eyes lighting up as he did, even though he struggled to get his words out everybody listened onto every word he said.

"I was down and out for the count; I can't remember if it was the 4th or 5th, I struggle to remember much these days... but I do remember seeing your grandmothers face in the crowd. I remember her looking at me with such hope in her eyes as our eyes locked and she mouthed 'keep going' I'll never forget those words." Jim went to take a swig of his drink concentrating on moving his hand towards his mouth closing his eyes and then opening them again to focus on his movements.

"I got up, I still lost but on points. I kept going" Moving his drink back away from his mouth and throwing his hands out in quick succession punching the air, spilling whisky out of his glass when moving his arm holding his drink outwards.

"Grandad?" Isabelle said slurring her words.

"Go on..." Jim said slurring his words straight back at her.